no accounting for taste
And like that, they had returned to this limbo of a cityscape as cleanly as if they had woken up from a dream. The streets and faces were familiar, bus pass long past expired tucked away into his hoodie pocket where they recalled stuffing it after hopping off the last bus of the night. And after that? They had woken up next to the city’s pit as fresh as their first day in Isola.
If this was Hell, it was a very specific brand of suffering.
They allowed their feet to take them wherever and ended up at the Theater of Calliope where they had once scouted, trying to gauge if a performance would be viable. In the dim light of the night, it lived up to the Ward’s tagline of antiquity, harsh shadows casting dramatic angles over Nova’s body as they stood by the entryway, observing the hustle of people vying to get inside for the night’s performance.
He checked the billboard posted by the entry gate, searching for the performance tonight. “Piano solo?” He scoffed, stepping to the side as gravity wells of various tones moved to get around his bulk, little care given that they were blocking a major path of egress.
"A bit pedestrian but there’s no accounting for good taste with you people.” Now to doublecheck if they had any money for admission...
@ascarletflame
